


Paranormal Proof

by Ailendolin



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buzzfeed Unsolved Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Supernatural Elements, Tom is a believer, Will is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28478904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailendolin/pseuds/Ailendolin
Summary: „Hello everyone, and welcome to another episode of Paranormal Proof – a show where we investigate paranormal occurrences as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?”Will and Tom spent New Year's Eve at an old farmhouse in France looking for ghosts.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	Paranormal Proof

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year 1917 fandom! This story was born from a silly idea I had that refused to go away, so have a little ghost hunting adventure with Will and Tom! It's inspired by Shane and Ryan from Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural and while there are a few references to that show in this story, you don't have to know it to follow the plot of this fic.
> 
> **Warnings:** swearing and blood. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own neither 1917 and make no money with this. As far as I know, no show named Paranormal Proof exists. If it does, this work has nothing to do with it.

**Paranormal Proof  
**

„Hello everyone, and welcome to another episode of _Paranormal Proof_ – a show where we investigate paranormal occurrences as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?”

Tom glanced at Will who looked straight into the camera and shook his head. He rolled his eyes, used to this by now, and continued their intro as if nothing had happened.

“My name is Tom,” he said.

“And I’m Will,” Will added.

“And we are here today in beautiful France to investigate the haunting of a local farmhouse!” Tom finished with a smile full of barely contained excitement.

Will’s eyes moved from left to right, taking in the winter landscape around them. “Beautiful is one way to describe it,” he said.

Tom turned to him with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “How would you describe it, then?”

“Cold and depressive,” Will said without hesitation.

Tom snorted. “It was your idea to come here!” He turned back to the camera and elaborated for the sake of their viewers, “We’re somewhere between Ècoust and Bapaume right now, on New Year’s Eve of all days, because _Will_ here gave me a ghost hunt for Christmas. Isn’t that lovely?” he asked their viewers with a grin. He even went so far as to bat his eyelashes at the camera, knowing full well how much of a field day their fans would have with that piece of information.

Will’s expression didn’t change. “You’ve been talking my ear off about this alleged ‘ _ghost_ ’,” he made quotation marks with his fingers, “for months now, Tom. It was getting tiresome.”

Tom snorted and nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, Will,” he needled. “Admit it. You did this because you knew it would make me happy.”

He gave Will his most lovely smile.

Will, in return, gave him a long-suffering look.

“Just tell the people about the fucking ghost, Tom.”

Tom laughed, bright and happy, and launched into the story of a young soldier who died during the First World War and was said to haunt the orchard and the fields surrounding the farmhouse.

“We don’t know his name but other ghosthunters claim to have heard the names Will or Bill through the spirit box – what a coincidence, huh?” he asked. He nudged Will with his elbows, a shit-eating grin on his face because he was having the time of his life with this little tidbit of information. “Wouldn’t you agree, _Will_?”

Will let out a weary sigh. “Because Will is such an uncommon name,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Anything else we know about this _ghost_?”

He said the last word as if it pained him.

Tom shook his head. “That’s about all the information we have on him, I’m afraid. We don’t know who he was, in which unit he served, what rank he held – nothing,” he said. “There’s no graveyard close by, not even an unmarked grave, and no record of anyone dying here. It’s a bit sad, really, to think someone could be forgotten so thoroughly.” A wave of sadness made him pause. He let his words sink in before he added. “But people have seen him wandering the orchard and fields, so we know he existed.”

“ _Claim_ to have seen him,” Will corrected him with a pointed look.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. The ghost is described as restless, and appears to be looking for something or someone.” Tom’s eyes met Will’s. “It’s possible he may have lost a friend here during the war and can’t move on because he’s still trying to find him.”

“Or,” Will pointed out a little too brightly, “your ghost doesn’t exist at all and we’re freezing our butts off and wasting our time here for nothing – just like we always do during our lovely midnight adventures.”

Tom resisted the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him. “I don’t even know why I’m taking you along with me on these hunts. You clearly have no valuable input whatsoever to offer.”

Will shrugged. “Because you’d get scared doing this on your own?”

This time, Tom did stick his tongue out at him. “Ha ha.”

Will wasn’t wrong, though. Tom knew it, Will knew, and their fans knew it as well. While this was their first ghost hunt abroad, it wasn’t the first time they were spending the night in some creepy run-down place that had tales of ghosts or demons surrounding it. Will never seemed to be too bothered by them. The things that got to him were the dirt, the cold and the sleep-deprivation, not the lost souls said to haunt the places. He didn’t believe in ghosts, never had, and thus didn’t startle at every little noise he heard when they were on location.

Tom, on the other hand, very much did. The moment he stepped into a haunted house he became _stressed_. A shadow moving across the walls or the rustling sound of branches was enough to elevate his heartrate and make him freak out – much to Will’s never-ending quiet amusement, and that of their viewers. Will was never mean about it, though. He might roll his eyes or let out an exasperated sigh, but he never belittled Tom for his genuine fear of the paranormal. He recognized that Tom’s fear was real, even if he didn’t believe the reason for it was, and always tried to explain away whatever phenomenon Tom thought he’d just witnessed with logical thinking and scientific facts.

“It’s an old house, Tom. It’s bound to make some noise.”

“The wind gets through the cracks – can’t you hear it? It’s no wonder the door moved.”

“Our torches are flickering because they’re shite, not because a ghost is turning them on and off. We’ve talked about this, Tom.”

Tom would never admit it on camera but he once told Will after a particularly terrifying shoot that he found Will’s presence in moments of high stress comforting. He didn’t need Will to hug him or hold his hand and tell him things were going to be okay. No, it was enough for him that Will was there and just himself. Tom might not fully believe his explanations in his moments of terror or afterwards, and he certainly wasn’t happy whenever Will antagonized any demons because he found it funny to call them names or invite them to possess him, but he couldn’t deny that Will’s complete disregard for the paranormal had a calming effect on him in even the scariest situations and sometimes even managed to make him laugh despite his fear. 

So yes, Tom did take Will along because he would be scared out of his mind on his own. Will made these haunts bearable for him, and gave their audience another point of view on the phenomena they managed to catch on camera – or didn’t, as Will would insist.

“So, how do you want to go about this?” Will asked, drawing him from his thoughts. Tom glanced at him briefly before he took in their surroundings once more.

“Taking temperature readings would be pointless since it’s already freezing,” he began. “But we could set up a camera in the house, see if we can record an orb. Maybe place some torches in there as well to try to talk to the ghost.”

Will nodded and reached for the camera. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Tom followed him into the farmhouse, telling their viewers on the way why they wouldn’t do a sleepover this time. Neither he nor Will were keen on dying from hypothermia in an abandoned farmhouse in rural France on New Year’s Eve, no matter how much their fans loved it when they slept in haunted locations. The farmhouse – a very generous description, Tom had to admit – was nothing more than a ruin with crumbling walls that provided no shelter from the harsh winter elements whatsoever. Judging by the look of it the roof had caved in a long time ago – so long that in fact nature had begun to reclaim the land as its own. Vines were growing inside the ruins, and the orchard, formerly kept contained within low stone walls, now almost stretched as far as the house.

Tom looked at the leafless trees, the branches swaying in the wind, and realized, “They’re cherries.”

Will turned around to look at him. “What?”

“The trees,” Tom said, gesturing at them. “They’re cherry trees. Like at home.”

Will looked at the gnarled branches dubiously. “You sure?”

Tom nodded. “Course I am.”

“Maybe your ghost is fond of cherries then, and that’s why he’s here,” Will suggested with a smirk.

Tom laughed. “That would be a first.”

He was about to enter the farmhouse when Will’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Age before beauty.”

Tom snorted and rolled his eyes but gestured for him to go ahead. Will always did this whenever they entered a house and Tom found it equally parts endearing and ridiculous. There was no door to keep either them or the cold out. From above, snow gently drifted down and accumulated against the crumbling walls. Time hadn’t been kind to what Tom assumed had once been a lovely family home.

“I wonder what family used to live here,” Will mused as they walked down the hallway. He turned around and pointed his torch at Tom. “Do we know?”

Tom shielded his eyes and shook his head. “After two world wars, town records are pretty much non-existent for that time.”

Will let out a long breath that fogged the air in front of him. “Shame. I hope they got out alive and managed to rebuild somewhere else.”

They made quick work of going through all the rooms before they positioned their night vision camera in what they assumed used to be the living room. It would record everything for the next hour and Tom would go through the footage tomorrow to see if they caught anything on it. He wasn’t too hopeful about it though since most ghost activity had always reportedly happened outside on the grounds. Still, he was willing to give it at least a try.

After he hit play, Tom put both his and Will’s torches on one of the crumbling walls opposite the camera. They walked a few steps back, and Tom took a deep breath and said to the room at large, “If anyone is here: give us a sign. Turn off the torches.”

Nothing happened.

Will, predictably, looked unenthusiastic about the whole thing. He had his hands buried deep in his pockets and stared at the torches with resigned patience.

Tom tried again. “If anyone is with us in this house and wants to communicate: torn off the torches.”

Again, nothing happened. Tom felt Will step closer to him.

“Maybe our ghost isn’t much of a talker,” he said.

“Or maybe he’s not strong enough to manipulate the torch,” Tom pointed out. “He’s been dead for over a hundred years, after all.”

He took off his backpack and Will heaved a heavy sigh. “Can we, just for once, not do the spirit box? Please? That thing’s bloody awful and always gives me a headache.”

Tom stopped his search to look up at him with a grin. “I don’t know what you mean. The spirit box is a genius piece of technology and our most valuable piece of equipment.”

“It’s bullshit is what it is,” Will muttered.

“It’s not,” Tom said. Upon finding it, he held it up triumphantly for their viewers and Will to see before he flicked the switch and turned it on. Immediately, the sound of static filled the house and Will winced.

“I really hate that thing.”

Tom didn’t let that deter him. Part of the reason why he insisted on bringing the spirit box with them on every hunt was _because_ Will was so averse to it. Will sometimes went on for minutes about how much of a fraud it was, and their viewers _loved_ it. There were several compilation videos of Will’s best rants about the spirit box online, and Tom made sure to like every single one of them.

Of course there existed also several videos about the so-called evidence that Will wasn’t human but, in fact, a demon. Tom always had a good laugh about those because seriously – Will? A demon? The mere notion was utterly ridiculous. Tom was willing to believe in a lot of things but _that_ wasn’t one of them. Their fans liked the idea, though, and Tom didn’t mind indulging them by bringing up those theories in their videos every now and then even if Will was always glaring at him when he did. He didn’t find those theories funny at all and always looked a bit miffed whenever the topic came up. To this day Tom hadn’t managed to find out why. Whenever he tried to talk to Will about it, to find out if it truly bothered him and he should stop, Will either clamped his mouth tightly shut or changed the topic.

Sometimes Tom swore Will could be more stubborn than a mule.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

The spirit box droned on and with every second that passed Will looked increasingly more pained, so Tom decided to take pity on him and start asking questions.

“Is anyone here with us?”

The spirit box flipped through whatever few radio channels it received out here in the middle of nowhere, and every now and then Tom could hear a bit of a chanson in-between the static. No ghost talk, though.

“We’d like to talk to you,” he tried again. “If you can hear us, say something.”

More static noise.

Tom spent five more minutes trying to get the ghost to interact with the spirit box until Will finally had enough.

“It’s obviously not working,” he said, stepping from foot to foot in an effort to stay warm. “Can we please turn it off now?”

“We haven’t tried outside yet,” Tom reminded him with a grin. “That’s where the ghost was most often seen.”

Will let his head hang in resignation. “Lead the way, then.”

With the spirit box still filling the night with noise, Tom reached for their torches and they went outside. He surveyed the field in front of him and the trees to his right. When he saw a single tree a bit to the left that wasn’t part of the orchard, he pointed at it and looked at Will.

“There. That’s where we’ll try again.” He placed the torches on one of its lower branches, and with the spirit box still running, said, “If anyone is here and you can hear us, please turn off the light or say something.”

He almost jumped when first one, then the second torch went out.

“Did you see that?” he asked, turning to Will with wide eyes. His heart was hammering in his chest, both from fear and excitement.

Will, not surprisingly, didn’t look impressed. “It’s freezing and the batteries are old. They were bound to fail at some point.”

Tom huffed. “I changed the batteries two hours ago.”

Will shrugged. “It’s still freezing.” He gave the torches a calculating look. “If there’s truly someone here with us, turn them on again.”

One of the torches started flickering a moment later and then went dark again.

“That’s all you got?” Will asked the ghost he didn’t believe in. The torches remained dark. No flicker of light, nothing. “What a waste of time.”

Tom huffed out a breath, unwilling to admit that he was a bit disappointed by the lack of paranormal activity as well.

“Let’s try the spirit box again,” he suggested. “Hello! My name is Tom and this is my friend Will and –“

“ _Will_ ,” the spirit box said at once.

Tom’s heart started beating faster. “Did you hear that?” he asked Will in a hushed voice. “It said your name!”

Will frowned at the spirit box for a moment before his eyes flicked over to the tree. “Coincidence,” he decided. “That could have been from any of the radio stations that thing flips through.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Remember, we decided it only counts as evidence when the box says more than one word.”

“Fine,” Tom huffed before he addressed the ghost again. “Is Will your name? Or the name of a friend perhaps? Someone you knew during the war?”

“ _Will_ ,” the spirit box said again.

Tom’s eyes met Will’s in the darkness. “Don’t tell me you think that’s another coincidence.”

“It’s still only one word,” Will reminded him.

“But he repeated it!” Tom insisted. “Will, that’s got to mean _something_!”

“ _Will_ ,” the spirit box spoke once more, unprompted.

Will took the spirit box out of Tom’s hand. “I think that thing’s broken.” He shook it. “More than usual.”

Tom took the spirit box back from him. “Just admit it: I was right and you were wrong. This is clearly evidence. God, I can’t wait to show this to our fans! We’re talking to a ghost!”

“ _Will_ ,” the spirit box said as if it agreed.

Tom grinned at Will, feeling high on success. “See?”

He continued to ask the spirit box things like, “How old are you?” and, “Where are you from?” and, “Do you have a last name?” but the only word the spirit box would say was, “ _Will._ ”

After fifteen minutes of this, Tom had to admit that maybe Will had a point. While it was great to have a ghost repeatedly saying something, this one seemed to be a little too repetitive. Not that Tom had much experience in talking to ghost. Usually, they only got the odd word here and there from the spirit box. Most of the time, the message was garbled so badly he could hardly understand what was said. It made it more than a little difficult to argue that what they had recorded was in fact a ghost and not some staticky radio station like Will always insisted (probably rightfully, if Tom was being honest).

The voice repeating the name _Will_ felt different, though. The way it spoke, clear and easily understandable, tugged at Tom, and somewhere deep inside he was sure that they were listening to the actual voice of a ghost right now. But he had no proof beyond his gut feeling, and Will was right: one word was not enough evidence, and the more the ghost repeated the same word, the less certain Tom became that this was real.

“It’s almost midnight,” Will gently pointed out after a while.

Stubbornly, Tom shook his head. “One more try.”

“Okay,” Will said softly.

Tom glanced at him, surprised, but Will simply nodded at him to go ahead and try again. Tom took a deep breath.

“Okay, ghost – Will, whatever. We’re about to leave – the new year’s beginning in a few minutes and I really don’t want to celebrate it out here in the cold. So could you please do me the favour of saying something other than your name? Please?”

The spirit box was quiet for a moment. Tom held his breath.

“ _Will_.”

He groaned. Will gently patted his shoulder as he hung his head in obvious disappointment. “You’ll have better luck next time, mate.”

Tom sighed and looked at him in resignation. “You don’t even believe in this stuff.”

Will shrugged. “No, but you do, and that’s enough for me.” He paused. “We got some good footage here today, Tom. So what’s with the long face?” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Where’s that beautiful smile of yours, hm?” 

The words caused warmth to bloom where before cold disappointment had lain like a heavy stone in Tom’s gut. He smiled at Will, slow, tentative, and Will smiled back at him.

“There it is,” Will murmured softly. His hand trailed down Tom’s arm to take the spirit box from him. He turned it off and suddenly everything around them was still and silent once more, as if lost in time. A million stars twinkled above them, promising an icy cold night, and Tom wondered if Will the ghost had looked up at the same stars over a hundred years ago and took comfort in their light just like he was doing now.

He looked at his own Will, the one who’s been at his side for the last two years, and felt blood rushing in his ears and darkening his cheeks when he saw how Will looked at him: soft and gentle, his lips turned up in quiet wonder.

“What?” Tom couldn’t help but ask a little self-consciously.

Will blinked as if coming out of a dream. “Nothing,” he murmured. “Just … don’t ever change, Tom. Don’t stop believing.”

Tom felt himself drawn into a pair of warm arms. Will wasn’t usually this physically affectionate with him, and certainly not on camera, and for a second Tom wanted to ask him about it. Then he felt Will’s cold nose in the space between his scarf and hat and decided it didn’t matter.

“Thank you for always indulging me,” he whispered into Will’s shoulder instead before he drew back. Will seemed to glow in the cold moonlight. His pale skin looked almost ethereal despite the flush on his cheeks. Tom smiled and gave his hands a quick squeeze before letting go of him completely. He pointed at their cameras. “I think we might have to cut that or the fans will go _crazy_.”

Will laughed and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “We’ll never hear the end of it,” he agreed.

Tom looked down at his watch. “How about we call it a night? Maybe we’ll make it back to the hotel in time for midnight.”

“I doubt that,” Will said and just like with most things, Tom knew he was probably right about this one, too. To his surprise, Will began to dig around in his pockets for the car keys and handed them to him. “And because I expected this, I hid some champagne for us in the car.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “You did? Mate, I could kiss you!”

Laughing, Will held up his hands. “Not until midnight.”

Tom blushed to his ears but grinned at him. “We’re definitely cutting that.”

Will gave him a playful shove. “Go on, you menace. Collect the camera from the house and get the car heated up. I’ll just do a few more shots of the area for the video and then I’ll join you.”

Tom gave him a mock salute and did what Will said. His heart was beating up a storm when he went to get the camera but not because he was scared of any possible ghost activity. The thought of celebrating the new year with Will, alone in a car with a bottle of champagne and the prospect of a kiss between them, was more than enough to make him almost giddy with excitement. He and Will had drifted closer to crossing that line all year long and it seemed that Will, usually so cautious and overthinking every little thing, was finally ready to take the risk and allow what had been growing between them to bloom.

_What a day_ , Tom thought as he walked to the car with a grin on his face and a spring in his step. _What a year_.

He couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Will made sure Tom was on his way to the car and out of sight before he dropped all pretence of filming the orchard and turned back towards the tree and the lonely figure beneath it. He crouched down in front of it, out of reach, and asked, “Why do you linger here?”

Empty eyes stared up at him from an empty face. Time had eroded away features that might have once been handsome and youthful. Will had seen that happen a lot but it never got easier to look at.

“Will,” the ghost said, moving bloodless lips.

Will felt the word pass over him like a breeze.

“He is not here,” he said, not unkindly. His eyes fell down to the wound the ghost’s hand was lightly pressing against. Silver blood leaked through his fingers, twinkling faintly in the moonlight. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid he won’t be coming back.”

“Will,” the ghost said again, sounding distressed. It turned its head from left to right and back again, and Will felt his heart ache at the sight.

“You can’t wait here for him forever. You’ll fade away into nothingness. I’m sure your Will wouldn’t want that,” he said gently. “I certainly wouldn’t.”

The ghost went still. Its chest neither rose nor fell when it asked, “Will?”

“Yes, Will,” Will confirmed. “If you’ll allow it, I can help you find him. I can show you where he has gone to. But you must let go of this place first. You must stop lingering here.”

“Will,” the ghost repeated, this time more firmly and with something that sounded like determination. It made Will wonder who this other Will had been that he inspired so much devotion in the young soldier. Without a face, without a name, the ghost had lost most of himself over the century of his yearning and yet he still remembered this one name clearly and clung to it against all odds. Will thought him brave – maybe foolishly so, but then again love had always made fools out of men, and always would.

His gaze wandered into the darkness where he knew their rental car was – where Tom was waiting for him. He was no exception to that rule.

“Take my hand,” he told the ghost. “I will guide you on your way.”

The ghost hesitated for a moment, and Will thought it’s longing for its Will might not be strong enough for it to let go after all these years of fading away. Then wispy fingers reached for him. Cold, silver skin touched his hand, and Will shivered. It felt like jumping into a frozen lake, and goosebumps spread across his skin from the point of contact. He gritted his teeth against the sensation and clasped the ghost’s hand more firmly.

“Well done,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

As gently as he could, he helped the ghost to stand up. He felt the tether that connected the young soldier to the abandoned farmhouse tighten and then snap when the ghost’s feet finally left the ground. Misty silver trickled away from the lost soul like snow as it rose higher and higher, and golden light, so brilliant Will had to shield his eyes, illuminated the fields and the orchard for a brief moment. Glimpses of a life long gone flashed before Will’s eyes: a loving mother and father smiling down at him, a tooth-gapped older brother in the process of throwing a snowball, a silly dog barking soundlessly and wagging her tale in happiness – and finally, a face both young and old with kind eyes brimming with sadness.

“Will,” the ghost sighed, reaching towards it.

Will smiled even as his vision blurred. “You can be with him now.”

Gratitude filled him, and Will closed his eyes. He felt the ghostly fingers slipping from his grasp at last and then he was alone. The world around him was dark once more and he took a deep, shuddering breath as he looked up at the sky.

“Farewell,” he whispered into the night.

He wiped at the frozen tears on his cheeks before he gathered their equipment and hurried back to the car. Tom had turned on the light inside, and the sight of him in the warm glow with rosy cheeks, trying to balance both the bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hands, made Will stop in his tracks.

Tom was so utterly, wonderfully, beautifully alive and human that it took his breath away. That feeling had never changed through the years they’d known each other, and Will prayed it never would. It filled him with warmth where the cold touch of the ghost still lingered, and he basked in it. Just like always, Tom made his duty bearable. The mere sight of him, warm and safe and happy, was enough to drive the icy feeling inside him and the echoes of memories that weren’t his own away until all Will felt was affection so profound there were no words in any of the many languages of this world for it.

For Tom, he would face the angriest demons, the most vengeful ghosts and the saddest souls if it meant he would continue to grace Will with his smile. Will wouldn’t be able to do this, any of it, without him, and he hoped that one day he would find the courage to tell Tom what he truly was, what he _did_ every time they were hunting for ghosts. Because if anyone deserved to know the truth about him it was Tom. He deserved to know that all the things he believed in were true – at least to a certain degree. He deserved to see Will for who he truly was even if Will feared his reaction like nothing else in this plane of existence or any of the others.

All Will could hope for was that Tom would be kind to him when that moment came – that Tom would listen and not run away from him in fear before Will could explain. And if Tom then decided he wanted Will out of his life, then Will would leave even if it broke his heart. He owed Tom that much.

“Hey, there you are!” Tom said, pulling Will out of his thoughts. He was leaning out of the rolled down window of the car and holding out one of the glasses to Will in invitation. “Hurry up, it’s almost midnight!”

Will bit his lip and joined him in the car, and together they counted down the seconds until the clock struck twelve. In the distance, bells started ringing, announcing the arrival of the new year, and when Tom leaned in Will poured all the things he couldn’t yet say into a kiss that would always be their first but hopefully not their last.

He felt Tom smile against his lips and for the first time in his long life, peace settled over him like a blanket, warm and reassuring.

“I wanted to do that for a very long time,” Tom whispered into the space between them.

Will brought their foreheads together. “So did I. Happy new year, Tom.”

Tom smiled. “I’d say it’s already off to a great start.”

As Will’s whole being filled with happiness, a shooting star lit up the sky above them, and a lost soul finally came home. 

**Author's Note:**

> So ... I'm very curious to know what you guys think of that ending. 
> 
> A huge thank you once again goes to [MagicalTear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalTear) for suggesting Bapaume as the place where Will and Tom's unit is stationed at in the beginning of the film! Go check out her Blakefield stories! She's an amazingly talented writer and her stories are _excellent_! 💙
> 
> If you want to say hi, you can find me [here](https://ailendolin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Happy New Year!


End file.
